Rely on Me
by Madame Rose
Summary: Hermione hated the blush that rose in her cheeks when the two of them were alone and his hand accidentally brushed against her, when the electricity was actually something she could touch. Oneshot


**Author's Note: **This just randomly came to me when I was thinking about my current boy situation. :P I've always wanted a relationship like Ron and Hermione's, but I've also always envisioned Hermione as being too indepenent to really need someone and thinking that she was above relying on anybody. I picture Ron as behing her weakness and...yeah. So this story just popped into my head.

**Disclaimer: **There would be a living Fred Weasley if I owned Harry Potter. But that honor goes to JKRowling, lucky woman.

* * *

_Rely on Me_  
A Ron and Hermione Fanfiction  
April 14, 2008

Hermione Granger hated admitting that she needed him.

Raised in a family where independence was everything, she'd grown up by herself. Sure, there was love in her family and she never had a second doubt that her parents loved her, but that love wasn't something she could rely on. Her parents had instilled in her from an early age that she was the only one she could ever fully count on, and starting from the age of five she was not permitted to ask for anything. Instead, she had to earn it herself, and in the end there would always be compensation, be it food or clothing or a new book to read.

Hermione thought that this was the way the world was, and she accepted it. Throughout grade school, she buried herself in her studies, determined to become perfect and less reliant on those around her. She ignored the strange looks that were sometimes cast in her direction; she discounted any snide remarks muttered quietly behind her back. Those who mocked her would be nothing in the long run – Hermione Jane Granger was destined to be successful in anything she tried and independent from everything.

Then her Hogwarts letter came, and her vision of success changed. Her parents urged her to go to Hogwarts – follow her "calling", they called it – and she went without a second thought. Who would she be to deny what was apparently her birthright? And she seemed to fit into the world of magic well. Transfiguration, Charms, History of Magic, all these new and exciting subjects came so easily to her. Hermione could see the flash of jealousy that would flicker through her peers' eyes when she answered a question correctly, and she would smirk sometimes when she saw them struggling with their homework.

But there was always _that boy_, that one boy who bothered her. His red hair, smattering of freckles, gangly limbs, and other oddities were somewhat endearing – when had she ever used _that _word? – but his personality was something completely different. Ronald Weasley was rude and obnoxious with clearly limited talent for any magical endeavors. Already, he had attached himself to Harry Potter, the famous savior of the Wizarding world who seemed just as clueless as all the other students who came from Muggle families (with the exception of herself, of course). He was far too dependent on Harry, Hermione decided. There was no need to cultivate a friendship with him, or any other student for that matter. She'd already gone eleven years with no friends; certainly she could continue the next seven years in the same way.

Then why did it hurt so much when he made that snide comment about her lack of friends? Why did it make her break down in tears and dash to the bathroom, hiding from everyone in such a shameful manner? It didn't make any sense, Hermione mused as she sobbed in the loo. There was no reason why a particular Ronald Weasley's words should affect her in such a drastic manner. And then her musings were interrupted by the banging of the troll as it smashed its way into her hiding spot, its stench seeping through her nose as she began to tremble. Hermione's fingers had curled around her wand, determined to defend herself from the beast, but the yells of Ron and Harry disrupted her.

Harry and Ron became her first friends after that day. Hermione told herself that she didn't need them, not really; they were just a convenience to make life at Hogwarts a bit more enjoyable. As time wore on, though, she realized that she cared for those two boys more than she'd ever cared for any others, her family included. But every day she reminded herself that she didn't need them. Emotions aside, Hermione could separate herself from those two any time she wanted, and if they ever left her, there would be no pain, no pang of regret. No, there would only be simple acknowledgement of a friendship that came and went, and Hermione would be able to move on with her head held high.

And then came the _emotions_. Stronger and more powerful than she'd ever felt, Hermione knew she was in trouble the day she looked at Ron and realized that he wasn't as awkward as he used to be. She was frightened that his smile, wide and earnest and innocent and filled with all the potential in the world, haunted her dreams and never failed to make her heart flutter. Hermione hated the blush that rose in her cheeks when the two of them were alone and his hand accidentally brushed against hers and the electricity between them was actually tangible. It scared her that Harry sometimes grinned when he thought nobody was looking because he knew Hermione well enough to tell that she had a crush.

Still Hermione told herself that she didn't need Ron. She didn't need Ron, she didn't need Harry, and she didn't need anybody. The only person in life that she needed, she reminded herself, was her. In the end her parents' lessons would prove themselves true: they would all abandon her in the end if she grew too close. Hermione was constantly reminded of this when she and Ron fought; ignoring the anguish that it caused her. She had grown too close to him already, Harry as well, and she would separate herself from him when it was necessary. But the opportunity never presented itself, and before she knew it she was in love with him. In love with him to the point where it hurt.

Then one night, one dark night when Hermione had finally come to terms with the fact that she needed him, he left. She had been sure – _so damn sure _– that they would end up together before the month was out, and then he was gone. Yelling and accusations rang through her ears as she ran through the woods, crying out for him and crying so hard that her chest hurt. But when he didn't respond and 

Hermione knew he was gone, she couldn't force herself back into the mentality that she didn't need him.

But she had done it before, and she would do it again. Hermione shook him from her mind and refused to speak his name, and even when he came back she refused to truly forgive him. False smiles and fake laughter gave the illusion that all was well, but Hermione let the resentment and disgust fester in her heart until she convinced herself that he wasn't needed. After all, the only person who would never betray her was her. There was no need for Ronald Weasley. And even though she kissed him, pouring everything she had into that one, brief moment, Hermione still refused to admit that she needed him, needed anybody.

Three years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione gazed in the mirror of the flat she shared with him. Her parents were back at their old house, their memories restored, and they thought she was foolish for loving someone. But she'd seen something in their eyes that she'd never noticed when she was younger. There was something sad about the way they looked at each other, and though every movement seemed forced, Hermione could tell that there was well-hidden passion lurking beneath the carefully cultivated apathetic façade. She could see that behind her eyes there was a shadow of the same hidden passion, and though she loved her parents, she did not want to become like them.

"You won't become like them, 'Mione." _He always could read my mind_ she mused, smiling at her fiancé as he appeared in the reflection. "You're not them."

"How did you know that's what I was thinking?" Hermione laughed, her eyes threatening to sparkle with genuine appreciation.

"Because I've always managed to know what you're thinking." Ron's smile was lopsided and slightly imperfect – there was a scar on his lip and one on his cheek from the fighting they'd gone through. Still, Hermione knew that it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. "I know that you need me, nearly as much as I need you."

Hermione was silent for a moment as she stared in shock at the redheaded man. "I've never told you about that," she whispered, walking over to the bed they shared and gazing up at him.

Ron shrugged. "It's just easy for me to read you. You're simple, not that you're simple minded or anything, for me to understand. Plus, you've let _some _things slip over the years."

He strode over to the bed, flopping down with a _thump!_ before reclining against the headboard and pulling Hermione to his chest. Ron kissed the crown of her head softly before resting his cheek in the wild curls, and a small smile curved across her face. "You mean the world to me, Hermione Jane Granger, and I'm not afraid to admit that. You shouldn't be afraid to admit that you need me too. I'm not going to leave you."

"You might," she whispered softly, turning her face away from him. "I just…I can't forget all the times we fought and didn't talk for weeks and I was so _angry_. And even though I thought I hated you, you were the only one I wanted to talk to. But you didn't want to talk to me, because you were mad at me too. And then…and then you left that night…I called for you for God knows how long, and you didn't come back Ron…"

"We were children, Hermione," he said firmly. "Children. Even though it's only been a few years, we've both done a lot of growing up since then. Neither of us are who we used to be, and I can promise you that I'm not about to leave you. No matter how many times we fight, I can promise you that we'll always be together. You can rely on me, 'Mione. I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

"You promised you'd never leave me."

Hermione's face was worn with age, and her brown eyes sparkled with tears as she held on to Ron's still warm hand. A peaceful smile was on his face as he lay in the bed at St. Mungo's, his soul finally free from the illnesses that had plagued him for the past six months. Her hand quavered as she stroked his white hair, her own body succumbing to sobs as she realized that her husband would never again hold her or tell her that he loved her. "Come back," she whispered. "Please, please come back…"

Several hours later, Rose Weasley-Malfoy walked into the room to check on her mother. "Mum?" she called quietly, noting that Hermione was slumped over her father's body, apparently sleeping. It was a stab to see her father lying there, quiet and still and so obviously dead, and even more heartbreaking to see that her mother had not left his side. "Mom, it's time to go," Rose whispered, extending a hand to shake Hermione's shoulder. She pulled it back quickly, repulsed by the coolness of her mother's skin, and Rose stumbled away when the shock of realization hit her like a brick.

Her mother was dead, gone with the man who had been Hermione's one love. It was only fitting, Rose thought bitterly, that her mother would pass on within hours of Ron's death. After all, she never did do well without him. Hermione needed him too much.


End file.
